


suddenly, they were friends

by Urge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, AU - What if, Alternate Universe, Draco pov, F/M, M/M, Rewrite, au - draco doesn't suck, au - draco is one of the golden quartet, au - harry potter rewrite, au - rewrite, what if rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urge/pseuds/Urge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Draco swallows his pride, doesn't sit with Crabbe and Goyle on the first train ride to Hogwarts and ends up getting to know Harry and Ron, forming a fast friendship and drastically altering the trajectories that Dumbledore had first predicted for the students at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the train (pt 1)

Draco’s father had been livid when he found out that Draco had inadvertently insulted the Harry Potter’s friend, alienating him and potentially ruining his chances to get such a noble figure in the Malfoys’ corner. He had been told, in no short terms, that he had better become, if not friends, then at least allies with the Potter boy. Draco was afraid to find out what his father would do if he failed in his task – he had seen his father lay harsh punishments on Dobby and the other house elves for not adding enough milk to the tea; what would he do if his son tarnished the reputation of the Malfoy name in front of the boy who was being hailed as the savior of the wizarding world?

So Draco planned, very carefully, what he was to say to Potter – he didn’t feel right, using his name so freely, this near-mythical figure that he had grown up hearing whispered and praised at every turn. He would call him Potter for now – and was assured that he couldn’t possibly foul it up, this time. He made it as far as the platform until those plans were dashed.

Potter had shown up with the insufferable Weasley clan. His father had told him time and again that they were riff-raff, not to be trusted with anything of value and not worth his time or effort. Why was Potter always seeming to be in the thick of it with people who would just drag him down? His father whispered all of these things in his ear, snake-like, wheedling him into easing the Potter boy over to their side of the Hogwarts pond, the nice side. Draco wrinkled his nose. Something about what his father was saying seemed a little… off.

His mother seemed to think the same, if the hushed whisper-yell match that commenced meant anything. Draco stared balefully up at his parents. They had been doing this a lot, lately, and Draco was rather glad that he was leaving for school, at least until Christmas. He turned his grey gaze onto the laughing gaggle of Weasleys, bustling off and dragging their plethora of trunks onto the train. Usually, he didn’t think about the fact that he was an only child; it was a fact of life in the same way that his mother was always right and his father should shut up and take it like a man, but today, he longed for someone to share this moment with. An older sibling, perhaps, who would roll his eyes with Draco at their parents’ bickering and help him lug his black dragon-leather trunk onto the train and into an empty compartment. They’d leave with and wink and a nudge, letting Draco forge his own path, but standing steady in case of storms; a rock for Draco in his new environment, a familiar haven from which he could take strength. He wondered what it would be like to have a little brother, standing on the platform, crying for him not to leave like the smallest Weasley was. He decided that it would have been nice, having someone with whom to share these moments. But that wasn’t how his life played out, after Narcissa had become so sick after suffering from a particularly nasty curse from the bassinet that she was trying to retrieve for Draco from their basement. Instead, he was the sole progenitor of the Malfoy line, alone on his pedestal.

Well, he was going to fall sooner or later; he might as well kneel on the pedestal now and make some friends.

Draco wandered onto the train, pushing fruitlessly at his cart. He made it onto the train, looking for an empty compartment, but found none. The only one that still had space was with a dark-haired boy, turned towards the window and watching the goings-on. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, knocking on the door. “It’s rather full, this year.”

The boy whipped around just as the train started to move. “That’s fine, but I’m not sure how we’ll get your trunk up onto the rack.”

Dear Merlin, it was Harry Potter himself. Of all the things that Draco couldn’t have planned for, this was possibly the best. What a great opportunity to apologize to him for being such a troll in Madam Malkin’s. “It’s all right, I know a quick levitating spell. My mum taught it to me last summer, when she wanted to get back at my father for forgetting their anniversary.” He muttered the incantation under his breath, swished and flicked, and up the trunk went.

Potter grinned. “That’s wicked,” he said, breath stolen by this effortless display of magic. “Wait, don’t I know you from somewhere…?”

“Oh. Um, yes. We met in Madam Malkin’s. I’d, uh, I’d like to apologize for upsetting you; I really don’t know what I said wrong.” Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat, and glanced up from his knitted hands to see Potter regarding him impassively.

“I grew up outside of the wizarding world. I didn’t know about Hogwarts until I got the letter,” he finally said. “I’m kind of new to this world, but I always was treated badly in the muggle world. I wasn’t happy when I heard that there were the same kind prejudices here, too, and you just. Seemed kind of unaccepting of people that were different.”

Draco had shrunk in onto himself during Potter’s speech, feeling worse with every new word. After Potter let out a heaving sigh, seeming to signal his speech ending, Draco couldn’t contain himself. “But why would they ever treat you badly? You’re the savior of the wizarding world. How could they not know that?”

“Oh, they knew, all right,” Harry growled. “They just didn’t want their scum-of-the-earth kin’s child, purely because I came from magic. Do you see now how I walked into what was essentially the opposite when I met you?”

Draco paused. He couldn’t fathom how someone could think magic was wrong – it saved so much time, and was so useful. Could they purely be jealous? Or was their revulsion ingrained like his was for mudbloods? Suddenly, he was wondering about all the things that his family had taught him, wondering if maybe they were wrong.

The compartment door slid open. “Anyone sitting there?” the youngest Weasley boy asked, pointing at the seat opposite Potter. "Everywhere else is full."

Draco wrinkled his nose. Revelations or not, this was a blood traitor, spawn of a family of ginger rabbits that hadn’t a penny to their name, with a mother who amounted to nothing and a father who was obsessed with muggles at almost a freakish level. But as Draco was opening his mouth to refuse, Potter spoke over him.

“Come on, then, and let’s get your trunk up onto the rack. He knows a good spell to get it up there,” Potter said, gesturing at Draco. Draco glared. Betrayer, he thought to himself. “By the way, what’s your name? I don’t think I caught it.”

At this, Weasley finally seemed to notice Draco. “Eugh, it’s Draco Malfoy.” He said it like the sound tasted bitter in his mouth, and Draco wanted to do nothing more than stand up and punch him in his long, dirt-spotted, freckled nose. “Are you sure you want to be talking to him?”

“I could ask the same about you, Weasley, so why don’t you just shut your mouth and maybe it won’t look as dumb as it does hanging open.”

Potter glanced between the two of them, looking extremely confused and a tad exasperated. “While I don’t know what’s going on here, the train is full, and we don’t have any other seating options. We have to get along for at least this trip. So can you two drop it and just help me get Ron’s trunk up top?”

Draco stared at Potter petulantly. “Fine,” he finally bit out, and in no time, the trunk was away and he and Ron were sitting at opposite corners of the compartment, staring at each other like two owls put into a too-small cage.

The door rattled open again. This time, the Weasley twins stuck their heads through the door. “Hey, Ron. Listen, we’re going down the muddle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” Weasley muttered.

“Harry, did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” Draco found himself sighing in relief as they slid the door closed after saying their goodbyes. He had managed to evade notice, and therefore, scrutiny from these upperclassmen. That might actually ruin his chances of becoming friends with Potter.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” Weasley blurted out. At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes. And have you really got – you know…”

Draco was torn between rolling his eyes and the obvious request when Weasley pointed at Potter’s forehead and leaning forward to get a better look at the scar that was the only remnant of the killing curse that the Dark Lord attempted against a mere baby. “So that’s where the Dark Lord –” Draco breathed out.

“Yes,” said Potter, “but I can’t remember it.”

Weasley and Draco met eyes, but both looked away quickly. “Nothing?” Weasley pressed.

“Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.”

“Wow,” both boys said in unison, staring at Potter. When Draco noticed that Weasley was also paying rapt attention to the celebrity in their cart, he jerked his gaze away, cueing Weasley to do the same and begin staring out of the window.

“Are both of your families all wizards?” Potter finally asked.

Slowly, Weasley said, “Yes, I think so. I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.” Draco paused in his internal scoffing. He had forgotten that the Weasleys were the same kind of old wizarding family that his father preached about, the ones that he had grown up to show unconditional respect to. “It’s just how I grew up.” Weasley shrugged. “I’m sure Malfoy was the same way.”

Draco started. Was Weasley actually talking to him? Not at him, but to him? “Um, yes. My Aunt Andromeda married a mudblood, and she got forcefully ejected from the family. It’s weird, because she still sends me an owl each birthday and Christmas with my favorite treats. I’m still not sure how she finds out, but without fail, there it is. I don’t think she talks to my mum anymore, though.”

“What’s a mudblood?” Potter asked. Right, Draco kept forgetting that he didn’t know everything about wizarding society.

Weasley looked uncomfortable with the subject, so Draco forged on. “It’s someone who’s not of pure blood. Someone who’s born from muggles.”

Potter stared at him. “Well, that sounds like a load of owl pellets. My mum was a mudblood.”

Draco started. “I didn’t mean to offend you – just –”

“I mean, what if someone called you a pureblood with the same thing in mind when you called someone a mudblood? It just wouldn’t be right.”

Draco and Weasley both paused. They had never thought about the word before, just had grown up learning it and learning to use it, or not, in their respective situations. “Okay,” Malfoy said slowly. “My Aunt Andromeda married a muggle-born, then.”

Weasley took advantage of the lull in conversation to jump in with the next question that he had obviously been dying to ask. “I heard you went to live with Muggles. What are they like?”

“Horrible – well, not all of them,” Harry replied, matter-of-factly. “My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I’d had three wizard brothers.”

“Five. I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.” Ron sighed, and reached into his jacket and withdrew a fat, asleep, grey rat. “His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn’t aff – I mean, I got Scabbers instead.” His ears went pink. Was he embarrassed to be saying this much in front of Potter? From what Potter had told him, and what he had been wearing to Madam Malkin’s shop the first time they met, and what he was wearing now, Potter was no stranger to hand-me-downs and not being able to afford nice things.

And Potter decided to tell Weasley so. He told them both all about having to wear his cousin’s old clothes and never getting birthday celebrations. Weasley and Draco had exchanged scandalized looks when they heard about his treatment. It was barbaric – worse than how Draco’s mother treated the house elves, and they were actually made to serve. When he said the Dark Lord’s name out loud, though, Draco thought that both he and Ron were going to have heart attacks. “You don’t just say his name!” Draco hissed through his teeth.

“I’d have thought you, of all people –” Ron continued.

“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name. I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn… I bet,” Potter started, swallowing and staring down at his worn trainers, “I bet I’m the worst in the class,” he finished in a much smaller voice than either of the other boys in the compartment had heard from Potter the entire time.

“You won’t be,” Draco said confidently. “And if you are, then I’ll help you. I won’t let you be the worst.”

Weasley and Potter both looked at him. “That’s really nice of you,” Potter said. “Draco, right? What was growing up in the wizarding world like for you?”

And so, Draco filled the compartment with stories of grand balls, meeting vampires, and going on expeditions to fantastical places with his mother. His father was a topic he avoided like the plague – he didn’t particularly care to tell the other boys what his father would think of him, associating with a blood traitor and a half-blood in such friendly terms. His storytelling was vivid and striking, with alluring images almost seeming to form in the air above his head, and every time he told Potter – no, Harry – of a new creature or place, Weasley (Ron?) would scramble to tell him about it. When Draco told the two about the time he had gotten to see a roost of Antipodean Opaleye eggs, Ron (yes. Ron, that was starting to sound right in his head) gasped and launched into a story about his brother Charlie, and what he was doing in Romania. Draco was fascinated at how daring the eldest Weasley sounded – and was struck with the notion that if he had had siblings, and they done something fantastic like Charlie, he could have been the one telling that story. He barely had a moment of regret before Ron was nudging him – when had they all migrated closer to one another? – and telling him to go on. Time flew until there was a great clattering outside in the corridor.

A smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and asked, “Anything off the cart, dears?” The three looked between amongst themselves, and Draco pulled out a few Sickles and grabbed a few of his favorite treats. Harry, however, cleared out the cart, buying at least two of everything. 

Ron’s eyebrows were practically becoming one with his hairline, looking at Harry’s stash. “Hungry, are you?”

“Starving,” Harry said around a huge mouthful of a pumpkin pasty. Ron continued to stare wistfully at Harry’s treats while unwrapping a lumpy package.

“She always forgets I don’t like corned beef,” he mumbled mournfully.

“Swap you,” Draco said, grabbing up a pasty and tossing it over to Ron. “I’d kill for some meat; my mum forgot to get the house-elves to pack me anything.”

“My aunt and uncle wouldn’t pack me anything if their lives depended on it,” Harry said cheerily, deftly swapping out a chocolate frog pack for a sandwich. “Go on, have a pasty,” he said, nodding to Draco’s outstretched hand. “I can’t eat all of this sugar myself, you know.”


	2. welcome home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I'm back? I'm sorry? I'll try to be better at this?

Draco grinned back at Harry, subtly pushing the knapsack with food deeper under his seat. Whose feelings would not eating the food hurt? It would keep, there was an enchantment on the bag. Besides - he got the feeling that this way was far better.

\--

Their laughter was filling the compartment, after hearing about how Harry had accidentally Vanished the glass at the zoo before he got his letter, and how the snake had snapped at his cousin’s feet while it passed, when there was a quiet knock on the door. It slid open, and a morose, round-faced boy peered in. “Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?” Draco glanced sidelong to Ron, suppressing a snicker, and it rather looked like Ron was feeling the same. Harry shook his head quickly, and the boy wailed, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“Mate, don’t worry. All the cats and owls are still in their transport containers. He won’t get eaten,” Ron paused, letting the unspoken ‘yet’ hang in the air. After another quick exchange, the boy left, and Ron stated, “Don’t know why he’s so bothered. If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.” Draco stared at the rat sleeping on Ron’s lap. He still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that the battered thing hadn’t passed away, right on the spot. “He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference. I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look…” He pulled out an equally shabby wand from his trunk, with a chipped tip nearly exposing the unicorn hair.

The door slid open again, and this time, accompanying the round boy, was a girl with extremely large, extremely bushy hair, large front teeth, and an attitude that screamed to Draco that she was exactly the sort of girl his mother was, when she was this girl’s age. “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, a bit testily, but the girl wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring intently at the wand in his hand. 

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She plumped down next to Draco, and he twitched his dress robe a bit closer to himself. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er -- all right." He cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." He waved his wand in a vague, erratic gesture, and Draco stifled a laugh when he almost poked Harry in the cheek with it. When he had finished, nothing had happened, and Scabbers remained grey and fast asleep on Ron’s lap.

The girl made a small noise of disappointment. “Are you sure that’s a real spell? Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?” Draco stared at her – she had spit all of this out in the span of around half a minute, much faster than the dignified drawl his mother affected.

Harry whipped a look at Ron – who, by the looks of his stunned face, hadn’t prepared nearly as much as this Granger girl had thought was necessary. Ron, though pale and looking both annoyed and sick, muttered, “I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Um,” Harry began, “I’m Harry Potter.”

"Are you really?" said Granger excitedly. "I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.” It seemed that Granger had always been first in her class, and was wholly unwilling to fall behind on anything that her classmates might have otherwise had an advantage over her in, including cultural references. If nothing else, Draco had to admire the muggleborn for her persistence in succeeding in such a foreign world.

"Am I?" said Harry, sounding vaguely dazed. 

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Granger. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." She stood, smoothed down her robes, and led Neville briskly out of the compartment.

Harry swung his head back to his newfound friends, looking a bit baleful and beaten around the head from Granger’s enthusiastic entrance and exit. Ron snorted. “Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’d not in it.” He stared at his wand, brows furrowed, a vaguely angry look on his face. “Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”

“What house are your brothers in?” asked Harry. Draco sat back – any self-respecting Malfoy knew that the Weasleys were a bunch of blood traitors that inevitably wound up in Gryffindor.

“Gryffindor. Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.” At this, Draco sat forward – what was wrong with Slytherin?

“That’s the house Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” Harry asked, his thoughts almost visible over his head.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that everyone in Slytherin is bad,” Draco put forward quickly. Ron and Harry turned to him, a suspicious look coloring Ron’s expression. “There have been really good Slytherins, too. Merlin was in Slytherin, that’s why the First Order of Merlin robes are green.”

“Yeah, but aren’t most Slytherins really… well, sorry, really bad people? Now, especially?” Ron said, somewhat reluctantly.

Draco huffed. “If by bad, you mean only purebloods that are blood purists, you’re wrong. My now-disowned Aunt Andromeda married a muggleborn.” When Ron raised his eyebrow, Draco got defensive: “What, just because she doesn’t subscribe to the tenants of blood purity doesn’t mean that my grandmother didn’t! My point is, Harry, that not every Slytherin is inherently evil.” He and Ron flopped back onto the seats in identical movements, both feeling years of instilled hatred for one another come bubbling to the surface following such a conflict as this.

“You know,” Harry started, a bit slowly, “I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers are bit lighter. What do your older brothers do now that they’ve left, anyway?”

“Charlie’s in Romania, studying dragons, and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts. It’s super top-secret, apparently; he won’t even tell Mum anything. Though when I think about it, that might be for the better; she’s a terrible gossip when she gets into her knitting circles.”

“Witches knit?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“Witches and wizards enchant needles to knit for them and use handy little charms for fun designs, and then sit around and gossip for hours at a time while eating biscuits,” Ron said, quite matter-of-factly. “Or at least, that’s what Dad says. Anyway, did you two hear about what happened at Gringotts? It’s been all over the Daily Prophet, but I guess that you don’t get that with the Muggles – someone tried to rob a high security vault. But get this – they haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd. ‘Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it."

Draco felt himself pale. While his father professed loyalty to the minister, he truly still followed the Dark Arts. Contrarily, however, he hadn’t gone to Azkaban for Him like his Aunt Bellatrix, or many of their old family friends and cousins. If the Dark Lord came back, it might mean some terrible trouble for his family – and Draco wasn’t sure if it would end up brightly for them.

Draco tuned back in to Ron going on and on about Quidditch – he was just getting to seekers, and Draco felt that this would be a good enough time to jump back in. “I’ve been training to be a seeker for ages,” he said. “My mother was a chaser for Slytherin when she was our age. She put me on my first broom when I was barely one. She says that I could fly before I could walk.”

Ron stared at him. “What… what kind of broom do you have?” he finally said, a bit faintly, as if preparing himself for a death blow.

“Nimbus 2000, obviously,” he said, feeling both a bit smug and a bit guilty to be feeling so smug. “My mum gave it to me as a present for getting into Hogwarts. You know, I’m pretty sure she gave it to me as a threat; if I don’t do well during flying lessons and get on the team by next year, she might kill me.”

Ron looked like he was about to launch into another set of questions when the door slid open yet again, revealing two thickset and mean-looking boys. “Draco,” the one on the left started, “we were looking for you. Figures you’d be with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry glanced between the two boys and Draco. “What do they mean, Draco?”

Draco colored, a pink tinge appearing in his pale cheeks. “This is Victor Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Our parents are friends.” He didn’t elaborate further.

“What I think he’s referring to is the fact that Draco’s father probably put him up to finding you and making friends with you, today,” Ron said, looking like he had just bit into a particularly sour Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean. “Am I right, Draco?”

Draco sighed, quietly. “Well, you’re not wrong, but… but I really did want to apologize to you for being so awful in Madam Malkin’s, Harry.”

The boy on the right scoffed, and the one on the left shook his head. “Your mum really did raise you badly, Draco, if you’re sitting in the same compartment as a blood traitor. If you’re not careful, hanging out with the riffraff will rub off on you.” He paused, and glanced over at Harry. “And you, too, Potter. Choose your friends carefully, or you might end up with the wrong sort.”

Harry, Ron, and Draco rose up as one. “Say that again,” Ron said, face as flaming red as his hair. “Say it again, I dare you.”

The boy on the right shoved Ron backwards. “You gonna fight us, blood-traitor?”  
“Unless you leave,” Harry said with a degree of coolness that Draco couldn’t help but admire.

“But we don’t wanna leave, now do we, Crabbe? We’ve eaten all our food, and look right here, you’ve got some more.” Goyle reached down, into the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron. Draco grabbed Ron’s arm before he leapt forward – and satisfyingly, Goyle let out the horrible yell Draco had been counting on.

Scabbers, that dingy, half-dead rat was biting deep into Goyle’s finger, clinging in a stunning display of loyalty that Draco wouldn’t have expected from the rodent. Goyle howled in a fashion that Draco had come to associate with superficial pain, and dogs, and swung his hand around until Scabbers finally released his jaw, and hit the window. Crabbe and Goyle fled the compartment with haste, possibly because they heard footsteps, possibly because Malfoy had drawn his wand and was ready to duel.

Granger burst back into the compartment, hair making a crazy halo around her dark head. “What on earth has been going on?” she cried, staring at the mess of sweets on the floor and Ron, holding Scabbers by the tail, poking him gently to see if he was dead. 

“I think he’s been knocked out. No, wait, hold it – you’re kidding. He actually fell back asleep.” Ron sighed, and turned to Draco. “So why are you here, Malfoy?” Draco winced at the derisive use of his last name. He could practically feel their friendship regressing. “You spying on the blood traitor and the Boy Who Lived for your father?”

“No, no – I swear, I’m not here to please my father.” He paused, and scratched the back of his head. “My mum actually told me to ignore what my father wrote in his letters, this year, because she doesn’t want me to lose out on friendships like she did just because her family told her what to do.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, just a little bit, and he nodded, slowly. “Just know that if you do betray us, I won’t hesitate to hex you.” Finally, he turned to Granger. “Can we help you with something?”

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!" 

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” Ron scowled at her, and Draco surreptitiously put his wand back into its sheath in his sleeve. “Would you mind leaving while we change?” he continued, when Granger’s departure wasn’t immediate. 

"All right -- I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Granger in a sniffy voice, looking just a tad bit offended. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" 

Ron glared at her quickly retreating back as she spun on her heel and left. Harry turned his attention to the window – what was it like, to go to a place that you had never heard of, but that your parents and grandparents had gone to school?

Draco began to take off his blazer, removing the green tie with the Malfoy family crest on it and putting it back into his trunk. He pulled his custom-made robes over his head, the silk of the lining smoothing down his hair with its anti-static charms. He looked over at Harry and Ron – Harry’s robes were high-quality, but probably not as rich as his own, while Ron’s were very obviously hand-me-downs, and a bit too short for his lanky body. You could see his sneakers peeking out from underneath. A voice echoed throughout the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” Ron and Harry were looking extremely nervous – Draco hoped he wasn’t betraying himself by looking quite so sickly as Ron. They all grabbed the sweets and pushed them into their pockets, finally joining the crowd leaving the train as it lurched to a stop at the station.

They pushed their way toward the door and came out onto a tiny, dark, platform, shoving and being shoved through the cold night air, following a lamp being held far taller than even the eldest students’ heads.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?” Draco whipped to look sideways at Harry, who was beaming back at the great hairy face smiling at them over the sea of heads. “C’mon, follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!” They followed the wide swath that Hagrid cut through the crowd, tramping down a steep, narrow path through a dark forest. Nobody was speaking much – a few sniffles from the boy who lost his toad, and the muffled curses of the other first years as they slipped and stumbled down the path were the soundtrack of their journey. “Ye’ all get yer first sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec, jus’ round this bend here.”

And as one, the first years let out a gasp of awe – the narrow path had turned into a beach upon a wide black lake, with a stunning view of a vast castle with many sparkling turrets and towers perched atop a high mountain. Hagrid got their attention again by raising his booming voice, “No more’n four to a boat!” Harry, Ron, and Draco clambered into a boat, and Granger followed them into it. They all exchanged mildly disgusted looks with one another, but were distracted by Hagrid continuing, “Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!”

The boats moved seamlessly from the banks over the smooth lake, its surface reflecting perfectly the lights of the castle. They were silent and reverent as they stared up at the towering structure, looming ever larger as they sailed closer to the cliff on which it perched. “Heads down!” Hagrid called out, and they heeded his advice as they passed through a curtain of ivy behind which was a wide opening in the cliff face. They travelled even more quietly through a tunnel, all noises that they had heard when crossing the lake muted, and then, eventually, gone entirely. Finally, they scraped upon a pebbly beach, and they climbed out of their boats, still not speaking.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who had been striding from boat to boat as people climbed out of them – to make sure that no one had fainted of fear or sheer excitement, Draco imagined – and held up a struggling and mildly annoyed-looking toad.

“Trevor!” cried Longbottom, holding out his hands and scampering up to Hagrid. Draco heard Granger give a sigh of relief, and Ron stifle a snigger, as they started after Hagrid up into a passageway in the rock. They followed the light of his lamp until they reached a damp lawn in the shadow of the ever-imposing castle. This was quite possibly the most terrifying thing that Draco had ever done before – what if he got put in the wrong house? Even Aunt Andromeda had been in Slytherin. The only person to have not been put into the noble house was Sirius, and he was a complete traitor to everything they stood for, and flaunted it, according to his father.

But Hagrid would not wait for such fears to take hold of his charges – no, he walked up a flight of stone steps, and crowded around the huge, oak front door. Its face was covered in scrolling carvings of Hogwarts insignias and various magical creatures that inhabited the lands surrounding. “Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?” Hagrid called, and after receiving a shaky nod from Longbottom, raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey I'm trash here have another chapter

Their laughter was filling the compartment, after hearing about how Harry had accidentally Vanished the glass at the zoo before he got his letter, and how the snake had snapped at his cousin’s feet while it passed, when there was a quiet knock on the door. It slid open, and a morose, round-faced boy peered in. “Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?” Draco glanced sidelong to Ron, suppressing a snicker, and it rather looked like Ron was feeling the same. Harry shook his head quickly, and the boy wailed, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“Mate, don’t worry. All the cats and owls are still in their transport containers. He won’t get eaten,” Ron paused, letting the unspoken ‘yet’ hang in the air. After another quick exchange, the boy left, and Ron stated, “Don’t know why he’s so bothered. If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.” Draco stared at the rat sleeping on Ron’s lap. He still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that the battered thing hadn’t passed away, right on the spot. “He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference. I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look…” He pulled out an equally shabby wand from his trunk, with a chipped tip nearly exposing the unicorn hair.

The door slid open again, and this time, accompanying the round boy, was a girl with extremely large, extremely bushy hair, large front teeth, and an attitude that screamed to Draco that she was exactly the sort of girl his mother was, when she was this girl’s age. “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, a bit testily, but the girl wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring intently at the wand in his hand. 

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She plumped down next to Draco, and he twitched his dress robe a bit closer to himself. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er -- all right." He cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." He waved his wand in a vague, erratic gesture, and Draco stifled a laugh when he almost poked Harry in the cheek with it. When he had finished, nothing had happened, and Scabbers remained grey and fast asleep on Ron’s lap.

The girl made a small noise of disappointment. “Are you sure that’s a real spell? Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?” Draco stared at her – she had spit all of this out in the span of around half a minute, much faster than the dignified drawl his mother affected.

Harry whipped a look at Ron – who, by the looks of his stunned face, hadn’t prepared nearly as much as this Granger girl had thought was necessary. Ron, though pale and looking both annoyed and sick, muttered, “I’m Ron Weasley.”

“Um,” Harry began, “I’m Harry Potter.”

"Are you really?" said Granger excitedly. "I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.” It seemed that Granger had always been first in her class, and was wholly unwilling to fall behind on anything that her classmates might have otherwise had an advantage over her in, including cultural references. If nothing else, Draco had to admire the muggleborn for her persistence in succeeding in such a foreign world.

"Am I?" said Harry, sounding vaguely dazed. 

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Granger. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." She stood, smoothed down her robes, and led Neville briskly out of the compartment.

Harry swung his head back to his newfound friends, looking a bit baleful and beaten around the head from Granger’s enthusiastic entrance and exit. Ron snorted. “Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’d not in it.” He stared at his wand, brows furrowed, a vaguely angry look on his face. “Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”

“What house are your brothers in?” asked Harry. Draco sat back – any self-respecting Malfoy knew that the Weasleys were a bunch of blood traitors that inevitably wound up in Gryffindor.

“Gryffindor. Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.” At this, Draco sat forward – what was wrong with Slytherin?

“That’s the house Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” Harry asked, his thoughts almost visible over his head.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that everyone in Slytherin is bad,” Draco put forward quickly. Ron and Harry turned to him, a suspicious look coloring Ron’s expression. “There have been really good Slytherins, too. Merlin was in Slytherin, that’s why the First Order of Merlin robes are green.”

“Yeah, but aren’t most Slytherins really… well, sorry, really bad people? Now, especially?” Ron said, somewhat reluctantly.

Draco huffed. “If by bad, you mean only purebloods that are blood purists, you’re wrong. My now-disowned Aunt Andromeda married a muggleborn.” When Ron raised his eyebrow, Draco got defensive: “What, just because she doesn’t subscribe to the tenants of blood purity doesn’t mean that my grandmother didn’t! My point is, Harry, that not every Slytherin is inherently evil.” He and Ron flopped back onto the seats in identical movements, both feeling years of instilled hatred for one another come bubbling to the surface following such a conflict as this.

“You know,” Harry started, a bit slowly, “I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers are bit lighter. What do your older brothers do now that they’ve left, anyway?”

“Charlie’s in Romania, studying dragons, and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts. It’s super top-secret, apparently; he won’t even tell Mum anything. Though when I think about it, that might be for the better; she’s a terrible gossip when she gets into her knitting circles.”

“Witches knit?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“Witches and wizards enchant needles to knit for them and use handy little charms for fun designs, and then sit around and gossip for hours at a time while eating biscuits,” Ron said, quite matter-of-factly. “Or at least, that’s what Dad says. Anyway, did you two hear about what happened at Gringotts? It’s been all over the Daily Prophet, but I guess that you don’t get that with the Muggles – someone tried to rob a high security vault. But get this – they haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd. ‘Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.”

Draco felt himself pale. While his father professed loyalty to the minister, he truly still followed the Dark Arts. Contrarily, however, he hadn’t gone to Azkaban for Him like his Aunt Bellatrix, or many of their old family friends and cousins. If the Dark Lord came back, it might mean some terrible trouble for his family – and Draco wasn’t sure if it would end up brightly for them.

Draco tuned back in to Ron going on and on about Quidditch – he was just getting to seekers, and Draco felt that this would be a good enough time to jump back in. “I’ve been training to be a seeker for ages,” he said. “My mother was a chaser for Slytherin when she was our age. She put me on my first broom when I was barely one. She says that I could fly before I could walk.”

Ron stared at him. “What… what kind of broom do you have?” he finally said, a bit faintly, as if preparing himself for a death blow.

“Nimbus 2000, obviously,” he said, feeling both a bit smug and a bit guilty to be feeling so smug. “My mum gave it to me as a present for getting into Hogwarts. You know, I’m pretty sure she gave it to me as a threat; if I don’t do well during flying lessons and get on the team by next year, she might kill me.”

Ron looked like he was about to launch into another set of questions when the door slid open yet again, revealing two thickset and mean-looking boys. “Draco,” the one on the left started, “we were looking for you. Figures you’d be with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry glanced between the two boys and Draco. “What do they mean, Draco?”

Draco colored, a pink tinge appearing in his pale cheeks. “This is Victor Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Our parents are friends.” He didn’t elaborate further.

“What I think he’s referring to is the fact that Draco’s father probably put him up to finding you and making friends with you, today,” Ron said, looking like he had just bit into a particularly sour Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean. “Am I right, Draco?”

Draco sighed, quietly. “Well, you’re not wrong, but… but I really did want to apologize to you for being so awful in Madam Malkin’s, Harry.”

The boy on the right scoffed, and the one on the left shook his head. “Your mum really did raise you badly, Draco, if you’re sitting in the same compartment as a blood traitor. If you’re not careful, hanging out with the riffraff will rub off on you.” He paused, and glanced over at Harry. “And you, too, Potter. Choose your friends carefully, or you might end up with the wrong sort.”

Harry, Ron, and Draco rose up as one. “Say that again,” Ron said, face as flaming red as his hair. “Say it again, I dare you.”

The boy on the right shoved Ron backwards. “You gonna fight us, blood-traitor?”

“Unless you leave,” Harry said with a degree of coolness that Draco couldn’t help but admire.

“But we don’t wanna leave, now do we, Crabbe? We’ve eaten all our food, and look right here, you’ve got some more.” Goyle reached down, into the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron. Draco grabbed Ron’s arm before he leapt forward – and satisfyingly, Goyle let out the horrible yell Draco had been counting on.

Scabbers, that dingy, half-dead rat was biting deep into Goyle’s finger, clinging in a stunning display of loyalty that Draco wouldn’t have expected from the rodent. Goyle howled in a fashion that Draco had come to associate with superficial pain, and dogs, and swung his hand around until Scabbers finally released his jaw, and hit the window. Crabbe and Goyle fled the compartment with haste, possibly because they heard footsteps, possibly because Malfoy had drawn his wand and was ready to duel.

Granger burst back into the compartment, hair making a crazy halo around her dark head. “What on earth has been going on?” she cried, staring at the mess of sweets on the floor and Ron, holding Scabbers by the tail, poking him gently to see if he was dead.

“I think he’s been knocked out. No, wait, hold it – you’re kidding. He actually fell back asleep.” Ron sighed, and turned to Draco. “So why are you here, Malfoy?” Draco winced at the derisive use of his last name. He could practically feel their friendship regressing. “You spying on the blood traitor and the Boy Who Lived for your father?”

“No, no – I swear, I’m not here to please my father.” He paused, and scratched the back of his head. “My mum actually told me to ignore what my father wrote in his letters, this year, because she doesn’t want me to lose out on friendships like she did just because her family told her what to do.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, just a little bit, and he nodded, slowly. “Just know that if you do betray us, I won’t hesitate to hex you.” Finally, he turned to Granger. “Can we help you with something?”

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!" 

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” Ron scowled at her, and Draco surreptitiously put his wand back into its sheath in his sleeve. “Would you mind leaving while we change?” he continued, when Granger’s departure wasn’t immediate. 

"All right -- I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Granger in a sniffy voice, looking just a tad bit offended. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" 

Ron glared at her quickly retreating back as she spun on her heel and left. Harry turned his attention to the window – what was it like, to go to a place that you had never heard of, but that your parents and grandparents had gone to school?

Draco began to take off his blazer, removing the green tie with the Malfoy family crest on it and putting it back into his trunk. He pulled his custom-made robes over his head, the silk of the lining smoothing down his hair with its anti-static charms. He looked over at Harry and Ron – Harry’s robes were high-quality, but probably not as rich as his own, while Ron’s were very obviously hand-me-downs, and a bit too short for his lanky body. You could see his sneakers peeking out from underneath. A voice echoed throughout the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” Ron and Harry were looking extremely nervous – Draco hoped he wasn’t betraying himself by looking quite so sickly as Ron. They all grabbed the sweets and pushed them into their pockets, finally joining the crowd leaving the train as it lurched to a stop at the station.

They pushed their way toward the door and came out onto a tiny, dark, platform, shoving and being shoved through the cold night air, following a lamp being held far taller than even the eldest students’ heads.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?” Draco whipped to look sideways at Harry, who was beaming back at the great hairy face smiling at them over the sea of heads. “C’mon, follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!” They followed the wide swath that Hagrid cut through the crowd, tramping down a steep, narrow path through a dark forest. Nobody was speaking much – a few sniffles from the boy who lost his toad, and the muffled curses of the other first years as they slipped and stumbled down the path were the only soundtrack for their journey. “Ye’ all get yer first sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec, jus’ round this bend here.”

As one, the first years let out a gasp of awe – the narrow path had turned into a beach upon a wide black lake, with a stunning view of a vast castle with many sparkling turrets and towers perched atop a high mountain.

They scrambled down the bank towards the boats that Hagrid gestured them towards, with his resounding booms of “four to a boat!” echoing over the lake. Draco found himself wondering why his father hadn’t told him about the boats, or what to expect of the castle, but brushed it aside as he paused before climbing into a boat. He cast a look at Ron and Harry – they were already helping each other into a boat, and he was worried that whatever friendship they had tentatively forged on the train would only last as long as it would take to get to shore on the other side. Ron noticed his hesitance, and rolled his eyes.

“Well, come on then, you git! We haven’t got all day!” He extended his hand to Draco, grabbing him by his dress robes and pulled him into the boat as gracelessly as a colt finding its legs. Another boy, who briefly introduced himself as Justin Finch-Fletchley before turning back to the castle with a star-crossed look on his face, joined them in their boat before the vessels lurched forward with a word from Hagrid.

When they landed, Harry was the first out of their boat. He took a few eager steps forward, and then halted suddenly, a look crossing his face and a thought crossing his mind. What if he didn’t pass the test to get in? Surely there had to be some sort of test. He had no experience, and he hadn’t even done the reading that Hermione had done about the wizarding world. He was scared, simply put, that he wouldn’t measure up, just like his aunt and uncle had been telling him all his life, that he really was as worthless as Dudley always reinforced. He was broken out of his reverie by Hagrid, asking Neville if his toad was the one that he had found. The first years followed Hagrid, then, as he walked up the large stone stairs and knocked on the door, his booming fist rapping three times.

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BAAAAAACK  
> and better than ever with a whole! new! fic!!!!  
> I'm sure you all hate me. I hate me too. I got inspired.
> 
> I'm working on my other fics, I promise, but this one was flowing really well and I wanted to get it posted before I went to sleep/lost motivation. 
> 
> tldr; new fic, still working on oldies, please enjoy!!


End file.
